A theft has been committed, Mr. Rutland. My daughter has stolen something very valuable from me--a package of private papers, so important--well, if she succeeds in making them public I shall be injured to such an extent financially that there won't be any more generously splendid donations for you or anybody else. I have done my best to persuade her to return what she has stolen. Now you try. Bring her to a realization of the madness of what she is doing. {Rutland} (_Quite at sea, hemming and hawing._) As your spiritual adviser, Mrs. Chalmers--if this be true--I recommend--I suggest--I--ahem--I entreat-- {Margaret} Please, Mr. Rutland, don't be ridiculous. Father is only making a stalking horse out of you. Whatever I may have done, or not done, I believe I am doing right. The whole thing is infamous. The people have been lied to and robbed, and you are merely lending yourself to the infamy of perpetuating the lying and the robbing. If you persist in obeying my father's orders--yes, orders--you will lead me to believe that you are actuated by desire for more of those generously splendid donations. (_Starkweather sneers._) {Rutland} (_Embarrassed, hopelessly at sea._) This is, I fear--ahem--too delicate a matter, Mr. Starkweather, for me to interfere. I would suggest that it be advisable for me to withdraw--ahem-- {Starkweather} (_Musingly._) So the Church fails me, too. (_To Rutland._) No, you shall stay right here. {Margaret} Father, Tommy is down in the machine alone. Won't you let me go? {Starkweather} Give me the papers. (_Mrs. Starkweather rises and totters across to Margaret, moaning and whimpering._) {Mrs. Starkweather} Madge, Madge, it can't be true. I don't believe it. I know you have not done this awful thing. No daughter of mine could be guilty of such wickedness. I refuse to believe my ears-- (_Mrs. Starkweather sinks suddenly on her knees before Margaret, with clasped hands, weeping hysterically._) {Starkweather} (_Stepping to her side._) Get up. (_Hesitates and thinks._) No; go on. She might listen to you. {Margaret} (_Attempting to raise her mother._) Don't, mother, don't. Please get up. (_Mrs. Starkweather resists her hysterically._) You don't understand, mother. Please, please, get up. {Mrs. Starkweather} Madge, I, your mother, implore you, on my bended knees. Give up the papers to your father, and I shall forget all I have heard. Think of the family name. I don't believe it, not a word of it; but think of the shame and disgrace. Think of me. Think of Connie, your sister. Think of Tommy. You'll have your father in a terrible state. And you'll kill me. (_Moaning and rolling her head._) I'm going to be sick. I know I am going to be sick. {Margaret}